“Your verses cradle the dawn’s quiet defiance—a flawed start, yet the earth hums on, rooting joy in every misstep. Beauty blooms where shadows dance, silence a bee’s sweet hymn.”

The path is grass, the clock is sand,
Each misstep hums with tender grass
That catches roots in time’s slow tread,
While shadows dance, two-footed.

The stars, no scoreboard, count the hours
In silver curls of night’s refrain.
To pause is to invite the bees
To sip the silence, bumble low.

So let the false dawn wear its grin,
A lantern low, a crooked song—
The world wears dawn, the world wears dawn,